


A Just Punishment

by Achrya, Daiako (Achrya)



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Aftercare, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Biting, Crying, Daddy Kink, Did I mention the Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dom/sub, Feels, Intercrural Sex, Intersex Anakin, Intersex Omegas, It's cathartic, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Or maybe it's a kink, Oral Sex, Public Humiliation, Punishment, Rimming, Roughness, Shame, Subdrop, Undercover, Vaginal Fingering, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Achrya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Daiako
Summary: Omega Padawans are always teamed up with alpha masters, who are given free reign to handle their padawans as they choose. Obi-Wan has always taken a lighter hand than most with Anakin, even when others thought he was being too lenient. Anakin knows, not that anyone ever asks him, that Obi-Wan's approach works just fine...even if sometimes he wishes his Master would put a hand or two on him sometimes.At least that's what he thought he wanted, until an undercover mission finds him saying something he shouldn't to someone he shouldn't, and that someone demands Obi-Wan punish him or else see months of work ruined.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 21
Kudos: 358





	1. Crime and Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Just being shamelessly problematic. Age Gap, barely legal Anakin, omegaverse style gender oppression, spanking, and daddy kink with Obi-Wan being not nearly as guilty about being into as he should be. Takes place in a handwavey universe where omegas are always given alpha masters and fucky D/s elements, with omegas acknowledged as natural submissives, are the norm, or something that makes Obi-Wan mostly cool with this. Anyway, first part is spanking. Second part is smut. 
> 
> Warnings: Non consensual spanking, public humiliation, bad BDSM practices (SO BAD), Obi-Wan being ~mean to his bratty padawan, intersex omegas (Anakin), and rough sexual activity. Dubiously consensual activities between OCs, maybe. Take it as you will.

“I wonder,” Their target said, eyes dropping down to Anakin and a slow smirk curling behind the rim of their glass. “Have you considered taking on more omegas?” 

Obi-Wan’s laugh was low and whiskey smooth, wrapped around Anakin’s senses like a blanket. He pressed closer to his Master’s thigh, pressed his nose against soft linen, and was rewarded with a scratch of nails against his scalp. It did wonders to halt the bitter pulse that was unfolding in his chest. “Anakin suits me.” 

“Certainly he does.” The other alpha agreed. “I don’t mean to imply that there’s anything with the one you have, a bit masculine for my tastes but that face makes up for it, and they all breed the same I suppose, but...a man like you could do with more than just one, couldn’t he? I have a...selection of more traditional options.”

Maybe it was the atmosphere, the lounge with it’s dim lighting, tacky red and purple furniture, and the heavy smoke and spice of incense mixed with the noxious smell of omegas drugged to the edge of heat, or maybe it was the three blue milk coolers the tittering twi’lek server had brought him in spite of Obi-Wan’s silent disapproval. Maybe he was just too used to sitting at his Master’s feet and being allowed to speak his mind. Maybe it was the spike of something like anger, but not anger because this twisted his belly and made it harder to breath because this hurt in some way he couldn’t put a name to, at the thought of Obi-Wan having another omega. One who he didn’t stand taller than him, wasn’t ‘a bit masculine’, and didn’t run headfirst into trouble often. One who was soft and sweet and obedient, who his Master would take to bed at night and stay with during their heats, who he wanted in the way Alphas were meant to want omegas. 

Whatever it was that loosened his mouth, after promising to sit and stay silent because that was what their target liked to see in omegas, hardly mattered because he was twisting around and spitting out words before he even fully realized it. “My Ma-Alpha doesn’t need to buy an omega, or keep them chained up to-”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s hand tightened in his hair, tugged in a way meant to turn him away from the other alpha in the room, and the half dozen omegas of various species lounging naked on the couch with him all with pretty chains connected to pretty collars and cuffs; Anakin went stiff, resisted, but let what he was saying drop off.

“You permit your omega to speak to your allies in such a way?” Their target, a Chiss with eyes that glittered like polished red glass and a hard face that gave away nothing, asked. His voice positively dripped with disdain even as he smiled wider and ran a hand, slow and deliberate, over the chain laying across his lap. “This is what suits you so well?” 

“I-” Anakin started, teeth bared and a snarl building but another hard yank of his hair and he was whining before he could help himself, body arching up into the pull. It didn’t hurt past the initial shock, but his scalp tingled and the way his head was forced back ached almost immediately. He blinked up at his Master and was met with cool, detached blue peering down at him. 

“I’m afraid this trip has...confused him, with all the allowances he’s been granted. I see now letting him wander the compound as he desired-” Nessecary so Anakin could investigate under the guise of being a clue, stupid omega that no one needed to be concerned with. “And being able to see your...very lovely omegas looking so content while I’ve been occupied with business, has been in error.” 

Obi-Wan looked away from him with a put upon sigh. The hand in his hair released him in favor of slipping down to cup the back of his neck, resting warningly over the supple kryat dragon leather collar. It was nicer quality than the stiff synth-hide ones the temple had issued to him, fit closer to his neck, didn’t chafe or cut into his skin until it left red angry lines behind, and nicer in look too. Not thick and irritatingly shiney not sand colored, but sleek and black with the impression of scales pressed into it, seemingly one continuous loop with a fingerprint lock and release system hidden away. He’d hated the bulky ones from the temple and had been pleased, secretly, when Obi-Wan had presented this one to him before their first mission together. 

Anakin knew it didn’t mean anything. It was just less restricting and far less conspicuous, and he knew he should have hated it just as much as he did any other collar that had ever been placed on him; in the end they were all just marks that someone still owned him in some way, even if it was the Jedi and even if it was very different from his life before. 

But Anakin just..didn’t, couldn’t, because it was Obi-Wan’s collar. He even forgot he was wearing it sometimes. 

Until Obi-Wan’s hand was on it, tugging at the round ring at the front, or digging fingers beneath the release in the back to make it tight across Anakin’s throat, or simply touching, reminding him of his place. It was more effective than words, Anakin had to admit, at telling him he’d gone too far or was stepping out of line. Obi-Wan rarely made an issue of Anakin’s dynamic, not demanding some of the things he knew other Alpha-Masters did of their padawans. He was strict and often unyielding, didn’t let Anakin step too far out of the line and never let him forget the ‘rules’, but he didn’t use his scent or voice to command him, didn’t put him on his knees in front of others when he was upset with him, and when he was to be punished it was always private. Some Alpha-Masters made a spectacle of punishments, the better to drive home the lesson, but Obi-Wan had never done so. 

The other padawans and younglings had always been happy to inform him of what their masters and instructors thought of Obi-Wan’s ‘light’ hand with him: preferential treatment. Softness. Attachment. Allowing him to run wild for lack of the discipline omegas required. Anakin had quietly seethed under their words (and not so quietly lashed out with his fists once or twice) and thought that anyone who had ever been under Obi-Wan Kenobi’s disapproving, or worse *disappointed*, stare would not consider it soft. 

There was a reason Anakin knew to stop when Obi-Wan touched him like this. 

“He will be dealt with after our meeting.” Obi-Wan promised, tone suggesting Anakin would regret what he would done. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that voice but it was the first time he didn’t feel a wisp of exasperated fondness through the bond to go with it. Obi-Wan’s promises to ‘deal’ with him usually meant stepping up the boring training sessions (meditation and forms and non-combat force manipulation) or taking away his saber practice privileges or hours upon hours in the library helping with translations and research. It could mean kneeling at Obi-Wan’s side while he worked, until his back and knees ached but the worst part was also the cold silence and the way their bond would go quiet. (And the best part was the way Obi-Wan would haul him up and take him to the baths to soak in hot water and rub his back until he was almost too tired to walk himself back to their quarters)

He was punished, when Obi-Wan thought it needed, but there always warmth to it. Now there was only quiet nothingness between them, a chill where Anakin was used to Obi-Wan’s overwhelming presence. 

“After?” the Chiss’s eyebrows lifted. “There is no need for that. I’m sure you can discipline your omega and conduct our business at the same time.”

Obi-Wan inhaled, slow, then breathed out. “I do not punish my omega in public.” 

The Chiss frowned. “Your omega has disrespected me. It is our way to correct such behavior in front of the one slighted. To not do so is to permit his actions and if that is the case I think it is best to conclude our business now.” 

_ Fuck. _

This guy was supposedly dealing in stolen weapons, bioweapons to be precise, and it had taken months to get this close. Failing now, this close to gaining his trust and potentially getting an in with who he bought from, was unacceptable. Anakin knew he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if this got messed up because of him, and he wasn’t sure Obi-Wan would forgive him either. Not that he’d deserve it if people were infected and killed because of him. 

Obi-Wan stiffened next to him, the weight of his hand bearing down on him even heavier now. His alpha sat up straighter, the careless sprawl that came with his persona for this mission dropping away in favor of something rigid and cool. The bond cooled further and- no, it was closing. Doors were swinging shut between them, forcing Anakin out. He gasped and tried to jerk away but Obi-Wan held firm to him, fingers curling into the collar to pull it taut. Not enough to cut off air but enough to make him aware of every breath he took in the silence that followed. 

Enough to let him know that if he moved or spoke now things would become much much worse.

“I see.” Obi-Wan said finally. With one last fleeting squeeze he let him go. “Anakin, stand up.” 

His heart was racing and his head was spinning, everything had changed so fast and Obi-Wan was  _ shutting him out he never shut him out _ giving away nothing with his expression. There was no reassurance, no hint of comfort or kindness; his gaze was ice, immovable and burning with how frigid it had become. There was nothing of the master he knew for Anakin to reach for, to tell him he was just playing his role, to let him know that even under his upset his Master was still full of pride and affection for him. 

His Master’s lips thinned and a single eyebrow lifted dangerously. “Don’t make me repeat myself Anakin.” 

He stood, the dark whisper stirring him from his wide-eyed shock. Obi-Wan looked him over from head to toe and back again before leaning forward and reaching for him. Anakin almost flinched, a dozen memories of times he’d been reached for as a child and pain had followed flashing through his mind, but he bit it back. He pushed it aside because this was Obi-Wan, who had never hurt him, and because he couldn’t afford to make this any worse than it was already becoming. 

Making his Alpha-Master look like he couldn’t control him in public was already bad enough, it would have been cause for public lashes at the temple and much worse back on Tatooine (Slaves were killed for less, every day), trying to avoid whatever was coming next would just add to it. He would endure whatever Obi-Wan was about to do.    
It wouldn’t be that bad. 

“Pants off.” His master hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants, airy clingsilk that held tight to his backside and front, then gained slits high on his thighs and opened up and billowed away to make it look almost like a skirt. The blue fabric was near see-through and he hadn’t been given a shirt so saying there was little left to the imagination would have been an overstatement. Yet compared to the omegas on the couch and the ones he’d see during his wandering of the compound, all kept and collared and ready to act on the whim of the alpha who owned them, he supposed he looked downright conservative. 

He hadn’t minded it, nudity didn’t bother him, but as he stood still to let Obi-Wan strip him he felt his face warming. He swallowed hard, toes curling into the plush carpet, and pretended he couldn’t hear the approving hum of the Chiss behind them. Obi-Wan’s gaze flickered away, looking past Anakin for a moment, then slid back. 

“Lay over my lap.” 

Anakin hissed out a breath, jerking back a step before he could help himself. It wasn’t that his resolve was lacking, it wasn’t, but all at once he knew what Obi-Wan had planned for him. He wasn’t going to hurt him, not with lashes or paddling or something like that, he was going to embarrass him by taking him over his knee and spanking him. Spanking him in front of this leering asshole and his giggling omegas and the handful of subordinates and other workers floating around the lounge! 

Spanking was something Anakin’s mother had done to him once or twice, a few firm swats that left his face burning more than his butt, and something he’d seen a few Alpha-Master’s do to discipline padawans who were out of line but not actually in trouble. It made them look like naughty children, pants around their ankles and flailing on their master’s lap until they broke and apologized, and Anakin had always snickered at the sight. Spanking wasn’t...it was just...it was just to make someone look foolish, a lesson in humiliation. 

Taking a whip to him would be better. At least that would be something he could endure, something no one could laugh about. It would be awful but it wouldn’t be humiliation like a spanking would. 

He hated being embarrassed in front of others more than anything. Obi-Wan knew that, had cleaned scraps and bruises after fights with other padawans who laughed at or mocked him because he’d started out so far behind them with his training and listened to him rant furiously before having him sit to breath, focus, and release his feelings into the force. He had to know Anakin would hate this. 

His Master’s hand darted out and grabbed him by the wrist, jerking him closer before he could step back again. Another tug and he was being dragged down, forced forward and down and-

He wasn’t exactly sure how he ended up manhandled down over Obi-Wan’s thighs one handed but it happened. He tried to leverage himself up, his Master’s name on his tongue because pushing at the bond yielded nothing, but a heavy hand between his shoulders stopped him. Obi-Wan’s other hand came down at the small of his back, a warm band holding him in place.

“Stay down.” 

Anakin twisted enough to glare at the older man. “You want me to thank you after and call you Daddy too?” 

That was what the Chiss had his omegas do and call him, in simpering sugary sweet voices, when he deigned to pet them or make them eat from his fingers or reached between their thighs to play with the caged cocks or fingered their cunts. Anakin wasn’t sure what he’d hated about it more, how casually the alpha put them on display and how happy they seemed to sit pretty and submissive, or how watching made him feel warm and awkward. Or maybe how grateful he was when Obi-Wan would guide him to turn his head away, or pull him up into his lap and let him nuzzle into his neck. 

( _ Or, maybe, that he’d had to escape into the refresher more than once to bring himself off with shameful thoughts of being those omegas, open and wet and desired by their alpha)  _

Obi-Wan blinked at him then shrugged, “That’s your choice”, before pressing between his shoulder blades as his legs shifted slightly. Unbalanced Anakin slid forward, hands darting out to slam against the floor and stop him from falling on his face. He had to go onto his toes to keep contact with the floor and, he realized, that raised his ass up. 

The hand lifted, traced his spine lightly, before taking over the steady role of the other arm. For a painfully long moment nothing happened; Anakin held himself balanced precariously and Obi-Wan held him there, breathing steadily and saying nothing. 

“I might have spoken too soon.” Their target said; Anakin could hear the smile in his words. “He is more than a pretty face, from the right angle.” 

Fuck you, Anakin wanted to snap but Obi-Wan’s mild “He is much more.” as a rough hand laid across the curve of his ass may have stolen Anakin’s ability to think. It swept down over his skin, cupped just above where his thigh met ass, squeezed gently, then moved to do the same to the other side. Anakin shivered, lifting up a little higher to push against the heat of Obi-Wan’s hand, brain too busy shorting out to remind him that his Master didn’t touch him like this, that he was in trouble, that he was being a fool to enjoy this even a little.

“We stop when you apologize, understand?” 

Anakin scowled. “Sure.” 

Like that was going to happen anytime soon. Obi-Wan’s arm would get tired first and fine, he’d apologize after that because it was needed for the mission and it would look good to their target, but he it wasn’t like he’d mean it. And Obi-Wan would know it, silenced bond or not. 

The first slap echoed in Anakin’s ears. There was a delay between the sound and the rush of prickling pain that followed, enough of one that he couldn’t figure out where the noise had come from for a beat. And then he was arching up, or would have if not for the strong arm keeping him immobile, gasping as a sharp sting spread over his ass, just below where Obi-Wan’s hand was resting over both cheeks. More smacks followed in rapid succession, stinging but not that badly. He grit his teeth against it and glared sullenly at the floor. 

“Is that it?” The other alpha scoffed while his harem giggled. Anakin, in that moment, hated every single one of them and perhaps Obi-Wan too. He felt the force in him, around him, churning, spreading, reaching in response to the laughter. “Should I show you how it’s done?” 

“No need.” Obi-Wan said, voice cheerful in a way that made Anakin think of poisonous lizards in the desert, who croaked sweetly, musically, before lunging and latching on with teeth that could slice bone deep and pump enough toxin to knock a grown man out in the time it took blink. It sounded like danger to him; his hindbrain sparked and shivered, something old and deep (not him not him) coming awake in response to his alpha’s anger. 

He swallowed a whine. He didn’t whine, or croon, or keen, or purr or any of those other noises he’d heard from other omegas. There was no need to show his neck or belly. It was just a spanking. 

Obi-Wan added, in that same unbothered way that set off alarm bells in Anakin’s head. “I was just warming up.”

The next smack came fast and harder than the ones before it, the crack of skin impacting skin dizzying, overlapping where he’d already hit for the first time. This time he felt it right away, crawling like the tiny desert biters over his skin, hot and radiating out. It was different, more forceful and combining with the sting that was already there, the impact enough to sent Anakin rocking forward and oh, kriff, fuck, it hurt. 

It  _ hurt _ . 

It hurt more than he expected, far more than the echoes of memory from being spanked by his mother, more than he would have expected to come down on him from Obi-Wan’s hands. He could feel the tension in Obi-Wan’s body, knew he was putting real force behind it, and he could feel it in the way the impact rippled through him, forced the air out of his lungs, and made him rise up higher on his toes for reasons he wasn’t too sure of. He just needed to do it, to move when that heavy impact crashed into him, to jiggle and bounce even when Obi-Wan growled (growled! He hadn’t even known Obi-Wan could make a noise like that, dark and commanding, cutting right through the buzzing haze that was taking over his thoughts) for him to stay still. 

Again and again and again, with no pause between, varied intensity and placement until his whole ass was throbbing from it. It was impossible to guess where it was coming next or how hard it would be, impossible to do anything but accept the heavy strokes, each one bringing stinging heat to the surface of his skin; he moved as much as he could, legs jerking with each impact, but there was nowhere to go. He lost his purchase on the floor, grabbing his Master’s pant leg instead and burying his fingers into the soft fabric, twisting it in his hands so tight his fingers ached. 

His eyes burned and leaked at the edges; the swell of shame that came with realizing he was crying-CRYING- over a spanking, in front of people, almost choked him. It swept away his anger at being punished like a child and the part of himself that had been sure this would be nothing but something to embarrass him went silent. The world shrank, the laughter and encouraging sounds from their audience dropping away completely in favor of a loud buzzing in his ears, his vision blurred, and there was nothing but Obi-Wan left. The solid body under him, at his side, over his back, the steady pain he brought down, the smell of him, sweat and musk and that clean earthy note that Anakin had long associated with. He’s very aware of his situation, couldn’t forget, but at the same time it doesn’t matter any more, nothing matters beyond Obi-Wan. Anakin’s head was quiet except for that buzz. 

His stomach twisted up, going tight and blistering hot then coiling tighter and tighter with every additional layer of stinging hurt that came down. Though, he realized as Obi-Wan changed the angle and caught him on the underside of one cheek and a new kind of something blazed through him, it wasn’t exactly Pain like he knew it. Oh it hurt, there was no way around that, he was going to be sore for days and he’d be shocked if there weren’t bruises, but it wasn’t like sparring, or the fights he’d been in, or falling from high up, or when he accidently burnt himself while tinkering in his room. No this was a deep, pulsating pain but also crawling through him, making his skin feel tight around his bones, his muscles tense, and warm all over. 

Especially- Anakin danced on his toes, pressed his thighs together and clenched his teeth as the jolt of Obi-Wan’s hand hitting him rushed up against the electric zing from between his thighs and curled into something completely different. He gasped again, finally able to fully connect to the syrup thick feeling low in his stomach, and more shame followed. It crashed down, warred with the whitenoise inside his skull, demanding his attention. It clogged his throat, pulled at him and demanded he acknowledge it, reminded him that he was ass up with his most intimate parts bared for all to see. 

Was he actually getting hard from this? Was that slick he felt teasing its way from his body, swore he could suddenly smell past Obi-Wan’s heavy scent. Could people tell? Could Obi-Wan tell that Anakin’s squirming was no longer just caused by pain. 

If he could it didn’t show. His master kept going, methodical and harsh, unrelenting, and Anakin cried out, sobbed and broke apart. It was too much, his head was empty and full all at once, he was burning up inside and out.

“Stop!” He shouted. There was a pause, he felt the hand just above his flesh, hovering, waiting then, when he said nothing else, another impact. His back bowed and he thrashed. “Nononono! Daddy, please, please, ‘m sorry!” 

Obi-Wan went very still, exhaled “Anakin.” in a way he’d never heard before. Rough, shaking like Anakin was shaking. 

“Please!” It came bursting from him, tore from his throat with all the effort of coughing up glass for how raw his throat felt. “Please, Master-DaddyAlpha, I’m sorry I’m sorry, DaddyStopI’mSorryIwon’t-”

Obi-Wan cupped his ass, fingers fanned out over his heated skin, rubbed a wide soothing circle. The buzzing in Anakin’s ear faded enough for “-eathe, sweetheart. You need to breathe.” 

Was he not?

He inhaled, air filling straining lungs, nodded to a question that hadn’t been asked. He sniffled in another breath, willed himself to do it again and again, just breathe and let himself shake and cry for lack of anything else he could do. Obi-Wan continued to touch him, shockingly gentle in comparison to the spanking. He heard, dimly, people moving, talking, continuing their business as if nothing had happened but it meant nothing to him. 

He’s hauled up after what felt like forever, arranged so his stinging ass was on the couch between Obi-Wan’s legs and his face was against his Master’s chest. Lips brushed his forehead and fingers stroked through his hair; he clutched Obi-Wan’s tunic and fuck, he was still crying, sobbing, why couldn’t he stop? Why did he feel like this, stretched thin and wrung out, empty, so tired it made his head spin? 

Clapping made him jump, surprised at the loud noise, then glare wetly at their target. He wanted to scrub at his face, to hide his tears, but his arms were like lead, heavy and clumsy, barely felt like they were part of him and refused to release Obi-Wan’s shirt. The man was leaning back, one arm dropping to drape over the back of the couch and the other falling atop the head of one of his omegas. The omega was kneeling between his legs, head in his lap, bobbing slowly. 

“A nice show, my friend! Apology accepted, even if your omega still looks unhappy with me.” Indeed he looked unbothered; Anakin wanted to be more angry than he was but all he really felt was...tired. Very tired. “Will you be staying to show us more? I always make my omegas apologize properly after they make me punish them, and I think yours could use it. I can smell him from here.” 

Anakin dropped his head, face as hot as his ass. Too tired to be mad, but not too tired to want to curl into a ball and die because now this entire room knew he’d gotten turned on by having his ass smacked. And he had, not that he was slowly settling back into his body properly, able to feel more than just the tender flesh of his ass, dick hard and pussy wet enough that he could feel it dampening his public hair. 

Obi-Wan’s chest rumbled with a growl he didn’t vocalize and the arm still resting around Anakin pulled him tighter to his Master’s chest. “No. I will take care of that in our room.” 

“Fine. Humans are possessive, I know, not much for showing off.” Their target waved a hand, dismissive, as his gaze dropped to the omega in front of him. “We will continue tomorrow, same time.” 

Obi-Wan agreed then, in a move that made Anakin yelp, shoved an arm beneath his legs and stood up. Anakin was, in his opinion, too old and too big to be carried around by his Master (He’d just turned 18 and he was officially taller than Obi-Wan, he shouldn’t be carried by anyone) but. 

But he curled into it, pressed his nose to Obi-Wan’s scent gland and let his eyes drift shut. It felt good, being held close and crooned to softly as they walked. 

“You did good, Padawan, you were amazing. Thank you.” Obi-Wan said and Anakin’s heart fluttered. “I’ll take care of you now.” 


	2. When You Treat Me Like That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Bad BDSM practices continue. I had a whole back and forth with myself, because I wanted them to wind down properly and talk before the smut happened but I could easily give another five thousand words of them poorly emoting at each other and not saying exactly what they mean with ease, and we don't have time for that. So I’m gonna bump this up to a three-parter (FML), so I satisfy that part of myself. But first we’re diving right into the porn, because that's what I said there would be and I am no liar! We’ll sort out Anakin's head some other time

The trip back to their room was absolute torture. He could have sworn the walk to the lounge hadn’t been half as long as the walk back was proving to be, no more than ten minutes and a few hallways. But this trip was long, drawn out, and at some point he decided he was absolutely going to lose his mind before they got back to their room.

Slow terrible torture, because what else could he call being carried around like a child by his Master, who smelled so good and was keeping him so close with strong arms under his knees behind his back, whispering soothing nonsense (something about a bath and a nap, Anakin cared less for the words as the comforting rumble of them in Obi-wan’s chest) into his hair? He tried to stay still, he really did, but he couldn’t help but shift around constantly, curling closer, arms wrapping around the alpha’s neck, grunting when every so often a step shook or jolted him but not out of pain. 

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan was saying. “Are you with me? How are you feeling?” 

He blinked again then let his eyes drift shut; that was a pointless question. Part of him wanted to ask where else he could be, what with Obi-Wan literally carrying him around, but talking seemed like a lot of effort. He didn’t want to though, now that his Master had asked, he found himself taking stock of his body. 

How was he feeling?

His ass hurt but it was a distant hurt, dulled by the bubbling honey thick heat cutting through his body and the dizziness being so close to Obi-Wan was causing. It was a good hurt, reminded him of stretching out really good after sparring; achy and hot. Every time Obi-Wan’s sleeve brushed right at the edge of where inflamed skin ended an electric sizzle cut through Anakin and went straight to his cock. His very hard cock, curved up against his belly and smearing an excessive amount of leak against the bare skin. 

Had they left his pants behind, he wondered as he chanced looking down at himself. The head of his cock was flushed an angry red that bordered on purple and, yes, the head was slick. Leak was drooling from the tip, translucent in the way the occasional trip into the more ‘scandalous’ parts of the Holonet told him all omegas’ leak was, and thick. He considered, very seriously, unwrapping one of his arms from around Obi-Wan’s neck and touching himself. It wouldn’t be okay to do, Obi-Wan would be so disgusted he’d probably drop him right on his ass and he would deserve that _~~just like he’d deserved that spanking~~ _but he wanted it so badly. 

Needed. 

And not just to his so hard it kriffing hurt dick either, but inside because he hurt there too, an empty, stretched pain to go with the mess of slick on his thighs and it was...gross. He knew Obi-Wan wouldn’t touch him, he had never wanted to before and there was no way he’d want to now when Anakin was near jumping out of his skin because his Master had spanked him in front of some sleazy weapons dealer. His throat tightened at the memory of the man’s clapping and leering, the way his eyes had lit up when he said he could smell Anakin; he tighter to Obi-Wan, breathed in his Master’s heady scent, and pushed the memory and the pit of shame it brought away. 

Pulling Obi-Wan’s scent (now less the pleasant but mild earthy scent Anakin had known the last nine years of his life and more deep, dark, rich, permeating the air so heavily that it was dripping over Anakin’s tongue and filling his throat and he still couldn’t get enough of it.) helped smooth out the jagged edges in him almost instantly. It sank into him, lit his blood on fire, called him to take in more, to taste it, to give in to...something. 

It was hard to know exactly what his body was screaming for him to do, it was all new and strange and his head was heavy but floaty, everything felt strange. The burn in his stomach and the throbbing between his thighs that was just getting worse the longer it went on, building itself up into an inferno with each passing second and he didn’t know how to tell his Master about it, couldn’t work his mouth or the heavy clumsy thing his tongue had become in his mouth.

He wanted, needed, was going to pass out and burst from the burning inside of him; it was worse than being stuck working outside when the suns were at their highest point on Tatooine, worse than any heat he’d ever gone through, worse than those times he could feel his Master’s rut-lust through the bond and could do nothing but lay in his bed and jerk off miserably because Obi-Wan would rather spend the time in isolation than with him (in him) like other Alpha-masters did with their padawans. 

He slipped his hand away from Obi-Wan’s neck, ignoring the concerned “Padawan?” spoken against his forehead, to wrap around his prick. He almost sobbed at the contact, the pressure and friction and just the _feeling_ of something other than cool wind against heated flesh so good his vision shook. It was a balm to frayed nerves at the same time as it added fuel to the burning inside; he tugged at himself, pushed his hips up towards his hand frantically, and almost missed the way Obi-Wan’s steps faltered. 

He didn’t miss the way his scent changed, spiking stronger before oozing out thick and that much richer; it had a near physical presence that Anakin swore he could feel stroking over his skin, curling in his belly, filling his brain with nothing but a need for more. Spit pooled in Anakin’s mouth, seeping around itching gums and aching teeth, made the breath he drew in wet. He licked his lips, tasted tears, then licked a stripe up Obi-Wan’s skin. Salt and skin and just a trace of musk, both nothing and everything at once. 

The noise Obi-Wan made, half question half groan, hit Anakin in his chest, drove all the air right out of him so fast it _hurt_. He clenched, wet and wanting, around nothing and that was wrong, all wrong. He scrabbled against Obi-Wan, twisted around in his grasp, uncaring of the way hands grasped at him frantically as he managed to hook a leg around the older man’s waist, zeroing in on where his Master’s scent was heaviest.

Anakin bit him. He dug his teeth into Obi-Wan’s skin, pressed his tongue against the stretch of raised flesh that cover his scent gland

Sometime, far removed from this one, he would wonder what possessed him to do something like that and what exactly he thought was going to happen. 

He was fairly certain being slammed into a wall hadn’t been it but as pain kicked him right in the stomach and his stupid confused dick jumped, he didn’t mind it (Oh Force, oh fuck, he chanted silently as he nearly climbed right out his skin at the flare of pain and again he bore down on emptiness and hated it.) He couldn’t see straight for a beat, the world going gray and hazy. He sucked in a wheezing breath, head dropping back against the wall and hands wrapping around Obi-Wan’s biceps, and let it out as a whine. His feet hit the ground. Obi-Wan’s hands were on his shoulders, curling so tight Anakin was sure he felt the bones grinding together. 

His Master looked furious, eyes bright blue flames under furrowed brows, skin flushed red, and mouth set into a grimace. His neck was bleeding and Anakin could taste it, metal and salt, in his mouth. The sight stroked satisfaction into a primal part of Anakin; he wanted to taste it again, to worry his teeth in deeper, to make it obvious to anyone who saw his Master that he was taken ( _“Have you considered taking on more omegas?”_ his hindbrain snapped at the memory.) “What are you doing?” 

Anakin had no clue what he was doing but, lucky for him, his mouth had a way of barreling forward even when his brain was at a loss (usually that got him into trouble but it had to work out in his favor at least once right?). “You said you’d take care of me!” He blurted out. 

Obi-Wan’s face did something complicated, lips twisting as his eyes darted left, right, and down before finally rolling heavenward without ever making eye contact. He sighed. “Anakin, please-” 

He didn’t like the way ‘please’ sounded in Obi-Wan’s mouth, exasperated and tired and teetering on the edge of something. He didn’t like that his Master wasn’t looking at him. He bared his teeth, irritated beyond reason, and snapped them. Obi-Wan pushed him just a little harder against the wall and Anakin’s vision flickered again. 

“You don’t know what you want, Padawan.” 

“Spank me again.” That’s what he thought he wanted anyway, that sharp sting and pressure against his skin, the quiet buzz in his brain, the way it rolled into his arousal to become so strong he hadn’t been able to do anything but cry. His skin tingled, tightened and he was panting, thighs pressing together in remembered pain. 

Obi-Wan didn’t look at him but he did huff out a laugh. “No.” His voice was rough, thick, more gravel than the smooth measured tones Anakin was used to. 

“Master!” Anakin pressed against the hands keeping him pinned to the wall, ignoring how his knees were shaking under his weight, and pulled at his alpha’s sleeves. Then, when Obi-Wan shook his head tightly, he tried again, pulling on what had gotten his Master to stop. “Daddy, please I-” 

He didn’t track Obi-Wan moving until his Master’s hand was between him and the wall, clamped around the back of his neck, covering skin and collar, drawing his head closer. Obi-Wan’s hand was bigger than he’d realized, wide enough to cover the whole of the back of his neck, to have fingertips made rough by years of saber handling and work press at the sides of his throat. 

His stomach fluttered, syrupy warm and yet tense at the same time. 

Obi-Wan’s mouth was hot against Anakin’s. His beard scratched a little but it was a small thing in comparison to damp lips against his own, to the hot tongue prying it’s way into mouth, to the way Obi-Wan absolutely devoured him in that hallway. He bore down on him, took the air from his lungs, swallowed every sound he made, left no part of his mouth untouched. Anakin was lightheaded when they parted, strings of spit stretching between them, and followed compliantly when Obi-Wan pushed him forward.

Their room wasn’t much further down the hall they were in. With Obi-Wan’s grip guiding him on his shaky legs Anakin walked the rest himself, voice trapped behind his teeth or maybe Obi-wan had just stolen it from him but no, he found it again to let out a yelp when upon stepping into the room he was pushed hard towards the bed. He stumbled, tripped over his feet, and all but face planted onto the soft surface. 

Obi-Wan followed him, crawled up after him and swatted his ass; Anakin hissed into their sheets, squirmed. It wasn’t like before, when his Master had been putting what seemed to have been his whole strength into every strike, but it was something. His cock rubbing against the sheets was something else so he rocked against it against, chased the feeling of soft fabric caught beneath him as he rubbed against it and his stomach and-

“Stop that.” Hands caught his hips and wrenched him up just enough to lose that tiny bit of relief. The touch that followed, a warm lingering caress to his ass, a press of a thumb to tender flesh, was almost as good as rutting against the bed anyway. “You wanted me to take care of you, didn’t you?” 

Anakin nodded into the mattress, swallowed hard. “Yeah. Yes, please, please.”

“I thought a bath and a rubdown would do that but it seems I-I misjudged how your punishment would affect you. You need me in a different way than I thought, don’t you?” Obi-Wan’s words dipped low and dark, came out slow and dropped from his tongue like a caress. “You want me to touch you?” 

“Yes!” Obviously. 

Obi-Wan’s thumb pressed against him, just a little harder. Sparks danced over Anakin’s abused nerves. He pressed his face harder into the mattress and ground his teeth together. Force, that was agonizingly good. “Spread your knees apart, as wide as you can without falling.” 

Anakin did as he was told, pushing his knees out, body lowering towards the bed, until he felt the stretch in his thighs, around his groin, making the muscles of his ass twitch and jump with the effort to keep his hips up. Obi-Wan rubbed and squeezed at his flesh as he moved, teasing at the sting, soothing it with one touch then aggravating it with another. Anakin’s toes curled. He held there for what might have been an eternity or an instant, face pushing into the sheets between where his elbows were digging into it, pushing back back into the kneading hands. 

He jumped when thumbs dipped into the crack of his ass spreading him. Obi-Wan hummed, thoughtful; Anakin would have sworn he could feel the weight of his eyes on him, that measured gaze taking in the usually hidden parts of him. It burned, or maybe that was just everything else. He wasn’t sure, but he was sure that the puff of air against his asshole was not enough warning for the swipe of tongue that came after. Obi-Wan flicked the tip against his entrance, circled the edge slowly then pressed against it fully, flat of his tongue wet and relentless as it moved. 

“Oh!” He yelped then moaned, eyes widening as he stared at nothing, and Obi-Wan began to devour him. He squirmed, moved to breathlessness by Obi-Wan painting circles and curls in random patterns against him, lapping messily against his hole, down to the sensitive skin between asshole and cunt then back up. His beard dragged, prickling at his skin and somehow rough but soft, tickling, at the same time. More long, slow swipes of tongue followed, sending waves of sensation so different from when Anakin curiously touched himself back there through him. He pushed back into it, felt a short laugh from his master before he heard it, chasing the wet heat as it worked at him. 

The first touch to his cunt surprised him enough to, for a confused breath, jerk away from it; when had his Master’s hand gotten There? (His Master was reaching around, over his hip to slide down between his thighs, how had he missed that?) The pad of Obi-Wan’s finger was almost petting him, soft glides along the seam of his vagina, each pass slicker than the last, like he was trying to coax him into relaxing. His tongue didn’t pause in moving over him, his Master crowding closer as Obi-Wan’s other hand spread him further. 

Teeth scraped against his rim, a hard line in counterpoint to the kiss that followed; pleasure jolted all through Anakin’s body, molten hot and singing. Another touch of teeth, a hot push of breath and a slow loop of tongue below his hole, and Anakain couldn’t draw air into his straining lungs for the whimpering moans that the mattress wasn’t quite muffeling. He moved back into his Master’s touch again, raising his hips thoughtlessly. Obi-Wan’s thumb pushed at him, sank in where he’d licked him wet and relaxed, and pushed to open him up for his tongue to roll inside, filthy and dripping. He realized, distantly, that he was never going to be able to look his Master in the face again and not remember what it felt like to have his tongue, curled stiff and twisting inside of him or how his beard was rubbing the inflamed skin of his ass raw. 

Obi-Wan’s finger stroked along his clit, firm pressure sweeping wet along the underside then rubbing a circle against the swollen nub. Anakin dropped down completely onto his chest, elbows deciding they no longer had any interest in keeping him upright, eyes slamming shut. It was a lot, more than a lot, Obi-Wan’s tongue squirming against his insides while his fingers worked slick and confident at his clit. His head was pounding in time with his racing heart and he was dizzy, wasn’t completely sure the room wasn’t spinning around him. His fingers dug deeper into the sheets and his teeth clenched down on his lower lip, the zing of pain a distant pinprick swallowed up in everything else that was happening. 

Obi-Wan’s fingers moved, slipping past soaked inner folds to press into him, two knuckles deep before drawing back. Anikin rocked into the short thrusts, ears burning (all of him was burning) at the obscene sounds ringing in then. Wet squelching filled the room, mixed with punched out grunts and “Ah-ah, ung, ah-” that he knew was coming from him but there was nothing for it now. He turned his head away from the mattress, pulling in cool air like he’d been drowning, and just let the sounds spill past his teeth no matter how mortifying. He choked around his alpha’s name, squeaked out a broken off “Master!” when fingers crooked towards his belly button and pressed into a spot that made the world go dark and hazy. They stayed there, firm insistent pressure for a long agonizing moment, and Anakin writhed on then. Obi-Wan hummed what might have been a laugh; the vibrations drew a wretched, wet shout from him. 

“Master,” He whined, rocking desperately between fingers and tongue. “I’m, hngh, that’s- too much, MDaddy, I’m gonna-”

The pressure let up when Obi-Wan’s fingers rocked against his inner walls, tapped and drew back to the tips of his fingers. When they returned it felt like more, he felt...fuller. They pushed in until he felt the palm brushing against him. The heel of his Master’s palm pressed against his clit, rubbed in the same moment fingers curled to bring that shattering pressure back. Anakin’s back curved, locked as what felt like very muscle in his body pulled taut, holding him on the edge for one drawn out second and then he was tumbling over the edge. He spilled himself onto the sheets, gushed over Obi-Wan’s hand. 

He might have died, or at least passed out, because when he became aware of his body (trembling and sweaty and stiff) it was as Obi-Wan draped himself over his back. Hips pressed against him and something long and searing hot rubbed against his ass. He hissed through his teeth, the rub of velvety skin against his raw, tender flesh riding the line between pain and not-pain, unsure if he wanted to escape it or not. Not, he decided when a hand pushed first one leg and then the other up to meet. It was too much work to move or think or do anything but made a purr-like noise as Obi-Wan moved him to where he wanted him. 

He liked that, and the way Obi-Wan leaned closer, chest flattening against Anakin’s back, to nuzzle behind his ear. 

“You’ve done so well for me tonight Anakin. You took your punishment perfectly and stayed in your role.” Obi-Wan’s hips drew away to allow his hand to slip between them then pressed back; his hand found a place curling around Anakin’s hip. The blunt head of his cock rubbed against him, slipped wet against the back of his thigh then nudged between them. “Such a good boy for me.”

Obi-wan’s cock slid forward, filled-no, made a space for itself between Anakin’s thighs and his cunt, nudged against his sensitive cunt and the underside of cock. He pulled him back until they were flush then went still; he felt the heat, the throb, of his Master against him, thick and hard. Anakin’s thighs squeezed and Obi-Wan cursed into his neck. 

When his Master moved, finally, it was almost a relief. Almost, because no longer was he just holding him between his thighs, just feeling that pressure pulsing against him but at the same time it wasn't. He feels the graze of skin against him with every short thrust, the bump and drag against his clit and oh, oh, he’s prickling hot again, feels it building swiftly and rippling out. It hurts as he pushes into it, aches when Obi-Wan murmurs that he's beautiful and perfect for him, that he’s “A good boy, perfect boy, like that, tighter, Anakin-” but he chases it, pushes himself. 

He feels desperate and strange, more animal than human as he chases the painful edge of another orgasm, and he lets that feeling take him whole. He tucked it alongside the barely there pain of Obi-Wan’s body rocking against his ass and the sticky heat bubbling low in his guy and spilling out of him in rushes. It was all fine, as long as Obi-Wan was there.

A tug at the back of his collar pulled it tight against his throat, made him lift his head and bend back. Obi-Wan licked the shell of his ear and sighed against it. “Say it again.” 

Anakin didn’t have to ask what. He knew, somehow, what his Master wanted and he gave it without hesitation, thought he would give anything his Master asked for in that wavering moment between them. “Daddy,” He keened, trembling and crying, when had he started crying *again*. Obi-Wan kissed him and he said it again and again, frantic, into the messy slides of their mouths and nips of teeth. . 

The hand on his hip moved, found his cock, pulled and Anakin buckled, folded down on himself and sobed out his completion. He felt the hot splash of his Master’s finish over his back and ass, shuddered weakly then again. 

Obi-Wan shifted to the side to drop down heavily next to him, pressed a hand to the back of his neck, and held it there, thumb stroking where the collar met skin but a hand to Anakin’s shoulder was shied away from. Anakin pushed his wet face against the sheets, trembled, and wanted...wanted something. 

“Ah.” Obi-Wan said. There was a glimmer of light, of a familiar soothing rush of affection, nudging against where Obi-Wan usually fit in their bond. Anakin opened up to it like breathing. He sniffled and let himself be drawn into Obi-Wan’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin: Oh, spanking is cool. Let's do that again  
> Obi-Wan: Ummm. I'm not sure you understand what you're saying  
> Anakin: *bite*  
> Obi-Wan: Well fuck it then. 
> 
> It’s fine, spanking your surprise!sub omega into an altered mental state then sexy timing him into a different kind of altered mental state is the norm in this universe. Clearly there is nothing to worry about here. 
> 
> It's still the fifth in Hawaii, which is the only time zone that matters...because that's where I live


End file.
